Wherever I'm with You
by mholub00
Summary: You meet the cab at the curb and he's paying the driver. (It's not the first time and it's not the last) (One-shot)


_**Prompt:** Things you said in the back of a cab._

1\. "You need to get out of here," said when you meet the cab at the curb and he's paying the driver, looking around at the rundown shops and graffitied walls and the three men smoking who knows what in an alley fifteen feet away from the entrance to your building.  
He thanks the man in a rough language you don't recognize and he slides from the backseat, pecking you on the cheek and taking your hand. "Want to move?"  
You lead him inside and think that's an offer you could accept.

2\. "Have I told you how beautiful you are," said when you climb in next to him in the backseat and it's a lie, you know it's a lie because you look like complete shit and you're hair is a disaster and you've been on a plane for fourteen hours and you glare at him but not convincingly, not angrily, because you can't muster the energy to look menacing and really you're just happy he's here.  
You're falling asleep on his shoulder when the taxi pulls out of the airport and he kisses your forehead, whispers "I love you, Bobbi."

3\. "Take us home," said to the driver, and he hands the man a slip of paper because of last time, because he can't quite pronounce the name of the street you now live on or, as he says, everyone else just can't quite listen properly.  
"Home," you repeat because you like the sound of that, and you like the way he says the name of your street, and you like the feel of his ring laced between your fingers.  
Your street. The street that you live on, with him. Together.  
He looks at you and smiles as if he's entertaining the same thought.

4\. "You're an angel," said when you fall on top of him in the back of the stolen cab because Izzy is driving and Izzy is a terrible get-away driver. She yells an apology from the other side of the glass, followed by a string of curse words. Idaho is shooting out the window at the armored SUV that's been tailing you for who even knows how long.  
"Shut up," you say because you can't focus, there's too much blood, and you really think that you should drive and Izzy should come deal with this mess because Christ, _there is so much blood_.  
"You are though," he says and you're sure he's losing it now, his eyes are clouding over, and you don't know what to do except keep the pressure on the hole in his side and breath.  
You yell at Izzy to drive faster.

5\. "It's fine," said when he's not looking at you, just holding the door of the cab as you slide inside. "I get it, it's classified."  
He hands you your duffel bag, or more tosses it haphazardly on the seat beside you and this is an argument that's been going on for so long that you don't even remember how it began. You can't tell him where you're going. You don't know when you'll be back.  
Can't or won't, Bob, he'd questioned you earlier and you'd wanted to scream at him because this kills you inside and why doesn't he understand that you don't make these rules but you have to follow them?  
You open your mouth to say something, maybe to apologize, but he holds up his hand and stops you and he meets your eyes for the first time in seven hours; he's not even trying to hide the pain and defeat.  
"Don't die out there."  
The door closes and the car pulls away from your building, away from him, and it's becoming increasingly clear that you might not be able to fix it this time.

6\. "Take her home," said to the driver, and he closes the door behind you, hands the man a slip of paper and you remember when him doing that meant good things, happy things, and you can't be that drunk but you can't think of when, between arriving at the bar and half-carrying you out, he stopped to write down your address.  
He's leaning in the passenger side window and maybe if you weren't feeling so light headed you would know what they are talking about, but then he hands over some more money with a "make sure she gets inside safe."  
You want to tell him you can take care of yourself but then he's looking at you with something horrible and sad in his eyes and it hits you that he's not coming, he's not going to walk you up and make sure you're okay like last time.  
"Goodnight Bobbi," he says and then he steps back onto the sidewalk, and you watch him shrink as the cab take you away, hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched and nudging a rock with his toe.  
He disappears and you start to cry.


End file.
